The Sane in the Asylum
by TheInvisibleGurlz
Summary: This is a collection of short stories from the perspectives of Gotham's greatest villains' children. A crossover between Asylum and City.
1. Eden Isley

**Eden Isley**

 **A.N.: I'm planning on writing a story featuring some OCs of mine. In order to grasp their characters a little better, I'm also writing some short stories from their perspectives. This, of course, is that story. Please let me know what you think, and enjoy!**

The first thing that greeted her as she awoke was the distant whispers of her brothers and sisters. The second thing was the glorious smell of dirt and leaves.

Dragging herself from her comfy, DIY bed in the boughs of her sister the weeping willow, she swung from the nearest branch to the ground, landing in a crouch. She looked down and surveyed her clothing.

Her lime skin nearly melted into the yellow shirt she wore. Her brown, fleecy sweatpants weren't much more fashionable.

Deeming her attire perfectly fine – it wasn't like the guards would care about her clothes – she pulled on some slippers and made her way into the vegetable garden.

It had once been a hidden chamber – or something like that – just off the Aviary. But the amount of light and the location was perfect for growing vegetables, and even some fruits. It was large, well lit naturally by the sun, and contained some cabinets for plants particularly sensitive to insects.

Her plants did as asked and supported her step for step as she strode ever so casually into the room. The bridge across the abyss below her had been taken out by the Joker in some mad riot thing. He'd told her about it once.

Personally, she didn't understand it. It wasn't like he was going to escape. No one could ever escape from Arkham Island.

She absently watered and cared for her beloved plants, squashing the thought as soon as it arose, that she'd have to take their children one day, and all for a few bucks that she didn't really need anyway. It wasn't like she paid for much here. A computer, she supposed, and some clay pots and paper bags. Everything else was either made by her or provided for free. Meals, residence, healthcare, education…

She'd just finished quenching the thirst of her last sibling when the grating sound of the opening door reached her ear again.

"Eden Isley," the guard said, standing ramrod straight, with her rifle in hand. She must've been new, as her face was unfamiliar and her stance told of nervousness. "Your mom's been found. If you want to pay her a visit, you know where she is."

"Yeah," she hesitantly replied, lowering the watering can. "I'll be there soon." The guard left, the door grinding back into place behind her.

The plants around her surged with their own apprehension, knowing just as well as she that, for a little while at least, they were under a new, cruel mistress.

With a hefty sigh, Eden succumbed herself to her fate. She would, not completely out of moral obligation, visit her mother in her cell.

Throwing on some more appropriate clothes (a pair of jeans and sneakers) she navigated the rooms and complicated hallways of her "house." She made a mental note to get an electrician on the subject of the power in the flooded room. She didn't need deadly waters in her home, but she needed bare, live wires even less.

Nevertheless, she called on a vine to carry her across, the plant receding the moment she touched ground.

She gingerly inched around the hole in the stairs when she was out the door. Apparently, her mom had grown some huge plant there and, despite Eden having removed it herself, no one thought it necessary to clean up the staircase, leaving a massive jumble of stones where cement slabs should have been.

Casually, she cast her eyes to the mansion as she walked away from it. Perhaps she'd visit J later. Maybe Moira and Ethan, too. She hadn't seen them in a while.

Her feet dragged her past the mansion and through the passageway linking Arkham East and West. There, she strode straight past the medical ward and to the penitentiary, where guards passed her by, sending her pitying sideways glances.

Her step never faltered, even as she passed the poor, unfortunate souls trapped in their cells, screaming like the mad men they were.

The only time she hesitated was when she finally found herself on the Green Mile, those horrifying screams still surrounding her. But it wasn't the incoherent yelling that scared her. There was only one thing, one man, she was afraid of.

No, right now she felt only sad. Only disappointed.

Her mother had her back turned to her, giving her a very full view of her "cell walls," but, with Poison Ivy as a mother, things like that hardly bothered her. At the _are-they-ever-going-to-oil-that-thing_ sound of the automatic door, she turned around to face the newcomer, her face lighting up in an instant.

"Lily!" she exclaimed. "It's so good to see you."

Eden painted an obviously fake smile onto her face. "For the last time, mom, my name is Eden; it's not that hard to remember," she singsonged.

"You used to love being called Lily," her mother bickered, stepping forward and sitting on the floor in her red tinted cell. Eden copied her.

"Yeah, back when I was a little kid and assumed lilies smelled nice." For all her plantiness, she still loathed the scent of lilies. "What'd you get caught doing this time," she asked.

"I tried to free some poor babies from Commissioner Gordon's house. He was torturing them."

Eden rolled her eyes. "You know, one day, you could just remind him to water his plants, instead of trying to kill him."

"Lily, he won't listen to reason. We need to take our babies back by force," Ivy replied, making Eden inwardly cringe at her old name.

"Has it ever occurred to you that you're no more than a bully?" the young girl asked. She was used to this by now. Back when she was a little girl, she'd been asked to talk sense into her mother every time she'd been incarcerated. She hardly needed to be told to do so, now. "You hurt people, even kill people! And for what? They don't listen to you. There are better, more effective ways to get people to care about the environment."

"Have you seen them work, thus far?"

"Are people going to care about the Earth if they're all dead?" A long silence followed, in which Ivy did not at all consider her daughter's words and Eden completely regretted even starting this argument.

"Well," the woman concluded, trying to get off the subject of her ecoterrorism. "What have you been doing with yourself while I was gone?"

"Same old, same old," Eden replied, eternally grateful for the change of subject. "I heard Puffin's been dealing with some sort of spy in Penguin's crew. She's got a good idea who it is."

"And who is it?"

"Some girl named Disa Proctor. It's just a hunch – based off the meaning of her name, at that – but it's better than not knowing."

"And what have _you_ been doing?"

"I got through six seasons of _How it's Made_ ; that's about it. Other than that, I've been mostly keeping to myself. Lonesome days, lonesome nights…" A thought sprang to mind. "Lonesome birthdays."

Pamela sighed, looking away from her daughter. Guilt dripped into Eden's stomach; she knew this was the response she'd get. She _knew_ it would only make her mother sad that, yet again, her daughter had been left – save for J, Moira, and Ethan – alone and present-less on her confusing birthday. But she was about as sweet as a lemon, and so the words had forced their way out.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there," the woman breathed. "I wish I could've been, but I can't."

Eden shook her head. "It doesn't matter; just forget it."

"Lily-"

" _EDEN!_ " she corrected.

Pamela sighed again. "I'll be there next year. Next year, I _promise_."

"You promised this year, too, and last year. I'm tired of broken promises."

"I'll keep it this year; my word is my bond."

" _Your word is your bond when you're talking to your_ babies, _never to your kid!_ " The second the last word was out of her mouth, Eden regretted every single one. Her mother glared at her with a neon green gaze, her eyes sharpened by her immaculate smoky eyes.

Without a goodbye, Eden took a few steps back, out the grating door before turning and sprinting down the halls and out the door, back the way she'd come. She said she'd visit J earlier, and that was exactly what she intended to do.

Her pace slowed when she was through the doors. It was a good thing too, because coming in the opposite direction and turning up his nose at the sight of her, was Quincy Sharp.

"Warden Sharp," she addressed him, something she almost never did. "Is J here?"

His gaze did not soften when he saw how close she was to crying. It never did.

"He's moved all of his things into Dr. Young's office, at long last," he replied in his pompous British accent. "I think you'll find him there. Now leave me." With this last command, he hobbled out of the mansion, cane in hand.

She made her way into the mansion, leaving the sour man behind. Her hands were shaking as she continued to wring them, trying desperately to keep herself together, at least until she was in private.

She shivered as she passed the small morgue at her side. Why a morgue was in the mansion and not just in the medical facility was beyond her.

She gripped the rail like a vice and she made her way down the stairs. She knocked when she finally found herself at the glass doors.

J opened the door only a moment later, his face screwed up in confusion, a look which softened as he saw Eden in her shaking, tearful, guilty state. Without words, he pulled her into his new room.

"You like it?" he asked, flashing a wide smile at the prospect that he now had his own, private room. The smile was infectious; Eden allowed a small, sad smile as she nodded her approval of the room.

"What's wrong?" he asked, this time with genuine interest in her insights. He sat beside her on the cot he'd set up, having gotten Penny's huge desk out of the way.

"Mom," she answered. "It just…it just…it feels like she loves her plants more than me. She's willing to kill for them, but she won't even take me with her when she breaks out and goes back to Gotham. I…I _know_ I can go there myself, but it's not the same. I want to _live_ with her, like Kitten lives with Catwoman. Even if it's in Arkham City, I want to live like I'm somewhat normal."

J wrapped an arm around her, his makeup making his mouth look hopelessly confused as he frowned. He didn't respond. It was always better to let her vent her frustrations and stay in a mood than to try to fix everything.

"I know she loves me," she continued. "But it doesn't feel like it. I never get to see her out of her cell, she hasn't taught me anything except how to use my powers, and even then, she taught me to use them to kill people! There's no love in that, I think."

"No," he agreed. "There isn't. Eden, look at me." He turned her around until she sat cross-legged on his bed, red eyes looking into his green. "Pamela loves you; don't doubt that. And while yes, she gets herself arrested, and while no, we can't have a normal life, imagine what would've happened otherwise. Can you really say you'd prefer to be a crook in Gotham, he-who-shall-not-be-named on your tail 24/7? You'd be terrified!"

"I'm not saying I regret living here. I just want _some_ normality, y'know? Going to a family restaurant with mom, seeing a movie _at_ a movie theater, and baking cookies like a normal person! And sleeping on a real bed, not a hammock, not a gurney, but an actual bed!"

"Why not go live with Kitten for a while? I'm sure Selina would be glad to have you."

"It won't be the same. I want mom there, not just staying with a friend."

"Just trying to help," he replied, holding up his chalky white hands in surrender.

"And J, can you honestly tell me you don't want the same? Imagine it; you wouldn't have to avoid Quincy all the time, you wouldn't be put under the microscope like you are here; J, do you have any idea how much better our lives could be if we actually went to school?"

"School sucks," he simply replied. "Besides, you know d*** well we'd be put under the microscope. I look like a murderer, and you're _green_. We're hardly inconspicuous. Maybe the others could pull it off, but the two of us just can't."

"Whatever. I'm heading home," she said tiredly. She slid off the cot and made the way back to the entrance.

Feeling properly vented, she slid into the gardens, instantly feeling more in her element. She made a mental note to do a major cleaning after lunch. While Zsasz's victims had been burned, rather than left to rot in her home, the tallied bench still stood, and the TYGER guards' leftover trash didn't fix the appearance.

A small smile found its way onto her face at the prospect of cleaning. It was something everyone else did; it was normal. She supposed, if this was her life henceforth, then she would take what normality she could get.

 **A.N.: I'm not great at writing "'slice of life" stories, so please let me know what you think this character, or the chapter in general. The next chapter will be a day from J's perspective, hopefully in the first person (I'm not great at that, either). Let me know what you think would be good to see from Eden – either in this story or a larger one – or what I should've done. Thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!**


	2. J

**J**

 **A.N.: And now, a day in the life of the child of a madman! Enjoy!**

A smile grows on my face as my eyes flicker open. Another day, another victim.

Smiling even wider, I pull the covers off and jump out of my bed. It takes me a second to remember, but I come to the realization that I'm in my new, (finally) private room; thus, I redirect myself in the _real_ direction of my vanity, instead of the old one.

The first thing to do is apply the eye shadow. I dip a brush into some black powder and messily run it over my eyelid. Kitten once told me that you're supposed to apply primer first, but I don't have the money or the intention to do it. It's never mattered to me, after all; the messier, the better!

After that, I swipe the lipstick over my lips…and then well past them. I stretch the line until it resembles a sharp point near the corners of my eyes, just like dad. Oh, he's a character, my dad. A jerk to mom, sometimes, but a character he is, indeed. I smile again.

I throw the doors open and run up the stairs and down the hall. Each hallway stretches like dear old dad's victims' mouths, but I'm fast enough and light enough to conquer them all.

The warden's office is empty. Good; I need it empty. Even better, Sharpie left his phone on his desk. A thought springs to mind.

Good old Sharpie never puts a password on his phone, which is all the better for me. I slide my finger across the button and find my way to the autocorrect settings. I make a few corrections and replace the phone, exactly as it was left, and clamber up through the hole Bats left. Mom used to teach me gymnastics and, although I'll deny it if you quote me, I absolutely love it. Now, I lie in wait.

Sharp comes back in, talking to himself, as usual. I don't get why he's so secretive about it, though. It's not like he's the only one who's crazy. Maybe he and Harvey should go bowling, sometime, two-on-two.

He works for a while, then I text him.

 _Hey, Sharpie. Can I take a boat and have some fun with dad in Arkham City?_

I know what you're thinking; yes, dad died six months ago, while he was in there. But has that ever stopped him before? No, no it hasn't.

Quincy's phone rings just a second after that. He types in the same way all old people do: one hand to hold the phone, the other with pointer finger outstretched to key in the words, one at a time.

 _Why are you asking for permission, boy? You've never asked before about any of your insolent schemes._

S***, he's on to me. Time for some improvisation.

 _Mom says I can get you to let me do things this way._ Forgetting a comma. Time to p*** him off.

 _Of course._ A smile grows on my face, and I have to fight down a laugh.

 _I meant Of course._

 _*Of course._

 _What have you done to me, boy‽_ How the f*** did he get an interrobang on his phone?

 _Sweet! Thanks Sharpie!_ I type.

 _Do not open his cell. I don't know what you've done to my phone, you brat, but I'm saying Absolutely._

 _*Not. DO NOT open his cell!_

 _See ya!_ I can't fight it, anymore. Tilting back my head, I let out my signature, cackling laughter. Open a new tab, go the YouTube, and listen to a hyena's laughter and a kookaburra. Imagine a sound between them; now, imagine it coming out of a human. Hardly the most charming thing in the world, I know.

I laugh all the harder when, in a moment of stupidity, Quincy dashes (hobbles quickly) out of his office, only to stop when he passes the hole I climbed through, hearing my cackling.

" _RUNT!_ Come down from there, you beast!"

My laughter echoes, even as I drop from the ceiling. He takes a swing at me, using his cane, but I dodge it, easily. I drop into the loose stance dad taught me. Sharpie takes another swing before making the exit I previously thought only Elsa could pull off. My stance and smile drop when a thought springs to mind.

I dash (running circles around Sharpie, of course) back to my room, vaulting over the stairs by way of the railing.

"I'm sorry, Jester!" I cry, bending down to my screaming kitty. He purrs and cuddles up to me as his cage gets opened, purring more because he knows he's about to get food and probably some milk than because he loves me. Still, I love him and that's all that matters.

He purrs even harder as he shoves his face into his food, only to immediately ignore it when I place a saucer of milk next to him. I open my phone to relive the last few minutes of epicness as I browse the texts. I'm definitely going to tell Eden. And I'm pretty sure my father, the _sponsor_ of TITAN, would be very pleased to hear about this.

Another smile spreads across my face; I'll go tell him now!

I'll spare you the details of further annoying Quincy by running in the halls and momentarily risking getting hit by sniper fire. All you need to know is that I got to the penitentiary in a hurry, with Jester clinging to my jacket.

The guards let me pass without a question. A few stares, of course, but at least no questions.

I run whenever I can, only stopping at the doors that have to scan me. Those things are annoyingly loud and faulty.

"Dad!" I scream as I vault over the rail to his cell in the extreme incarceration unit.

"H-hey, kiddo! What're you so happy about?" he asked, leaning against the bulletproof glass.

"I pranked Quincy _so_ hard. Check it out." I scroll through the texts on my phone, his green eyes flicking over each text. When I reach the last one, he throws back his head and lets out a laugh that always seems put the guards on edge.

"That brilliant!" he praised. "How'd you do it?"

"I messed with the autocorrect on his phone. Ethan did it to me, once, and then he showed me how."

"That's _excellent_! What'd he do, then?"

"He took a few swings at me with his cane. Didn't hit me, though."

"Good, good. I wouldn't expect anything less than the best of dodges from my little boy. And I assume Jester over here didn't get hurt by the _mean, old Sharpie_?" His voice goes from one of mania to a tone reserved only for talking to the cat. My hand travels to the zebra-striped fur ball on my shoulder.

"Nah. I accidently forgot to let him out, so Quincy didn't even get to try to touch him." Jester nudges my head, for no other reason than because the author wanted him to.

"Well, I better get back to the East side. I want to tell Eden about it." I ungracefully bow out at the sendoff of my father.

The guards are a bit less nervous, since I'm not running anymore. I still don't care about them.

Once I get back to the main cell block, I take a moment to truly revel in the animalistic screams of the inmates.

I know it's a weird thing to say, but madness isn't always supposed to be pushed away. Sometimes, you've just got to embrace it, so long as you're safe.

When I finally get to the botanical gardens (which, I might add, have no business being in an asylum), I'm treated to a shocking sight.

There she's standing, in all her green-ness, burning what looked like a bench in the cemetery next to the building.

"What are you doing?" There's really no other way to word it. I've known Eden for five years, ever since she was born, and she has never burned anything that I know of, definitely nothing made of wood.

"Cleaning," she simply replies, not even making eye contact. She's standing away from the flames, not risking getting burned. I, however, choose a position near the fire, casting the only light in the perpetually dark island.

"By the way, have you seen Carl Todd around?" she asks. "I need to talk to him about the electricity on one of the rooms."

"I think he quit. Do you want to see my latest little scheme?"

"Sure," she replies. She leans in the get a better look at my phone. The only response I get out of her is a mild chuckle. I guess it wasn't my craziest prank, but whatever.

"Still mad at your mom?"

She shakes her head. "Just kind of disappointed in myself, y'know? I shouldn't have snapped at her."

My eyes almost roll back into by head. "You're not obligated the respect her, E; don't you see that? If she doesn't make you a priority, then you don't have to make her one."

"But she's earned my respect. And she _does_ make me a priority, even by _not_ taking me with her when she breaks out. If she would, I'd be an accessory."

"You'd be _with her_ , like you _want to be_! Like she _knows_ you want to be! And besides, you can't be an accessory, unless the cops can prove your guilt. Even Harvey said so." She tilts her head without reply.

"I believe he also said I can be detained on suspicions. And I think reasonable doubt would be easier for a jury to come by, for me. You see, _I_ watch _Law & Order_."

I try to find a good response, I really do. "Nerd."

"The proper term is 'geek,'" she turns to face me, a smirk on her green face. "Do your research."

"High functioning sociopath, do yours." That gets her smiling.

We stand and talk for a while, Jester curled up by the fire, purring with satisfaction. Eventually, however, it comes time to leave (and prank Sharpie again).

Speaking of, don't _you_ have something you should be doing?

Creep.

 **A.N.: I'm not particularly satisfied with the way I ended this chapter, but I had to get it done. I'm not sure who should be next, so I would love some feedback. The characters I have yet to write are as follows: Puffin Cobblepot, Polar Bear Cobblepot, Kitten Kyle, Ethan Nygma, Moira Fries, and Joseph Crane. If and when I get around to the Cobblepot twins, I plan to switch back to third person perspective, since they live together and experience life in the same way. Thank you for your time and GOD BLESS!**


	3. Joseph Crane

**Joseph Crane**

 **A.N.: Joseph is up next, since I'm still a bit unsure of Kitten.**

 **If you have Facebook, then search my penname up and like my Facebook page. I'll be adding some more things soon. Enjoy!**

My control group of cockroaches is doing its normal business. Group A is behaving similarly, though a bit faster. Group B roaches are running for their tiny lives. Roaches in group C are lying motionless on their backs, legs curled in. Group D is-

 _Riiiinnngg!_

I bite out a curse as the phone rings, interrupting my administration of Toxin D.

"Busy. What do you want?"

" _Your dad's been found,"_ A woman's voice says over the line. The voice is unfamiliar, and hopefully will not get any less so. " _Do you know where his cell is?"_

"I do. I will be up shortly." Both lines cut out. After administration of toxin D, I grab my grapple gun – not unlike the Batman's, I would wager – and crawl through the duct that leads out of my father's lair.

The penitentiary is a fair distance from the intensive treatment center, and the grounds are pitch black on top of that, but I am familiar enough with the island that I can navigate it.

Criminals jeer and spit at me as I pass them. They are evidently jealous of my freedom, despite the fact that they themselves committed their crimes.

Blue eyes in a white face meet black eyes in a black face as I confront my father.

"Joseph," he greets me. "How are things?"

"Fine. I'm currently testing a new formula for the fear toxin. Theoretically, it could lead to enhanced strength, speed, and stamina. However, with acquired immunity, these advantages may fade."

"Interesting," he purrs. "What are you using in the formula?"

I will not bore you with the conversation; you would not understand it, anyway. Eventually, I leave him and return to the lair to check on my cockroaches.

Group D seem to have become skeptical of each other. There is at least an inch between each individual. I pass a bird-shaped cut-out between the lamps and the terrariums. Normally, this bird would eat these insects, and the roaches have developed a fear response to their shadows.

Group A runs to the plastic logs in a third of a second. B does not stop running in circles. C roaches are still dead and motionless. D, however, dart to the logs in one _sixth_ of a second. Promising…

I log the data absentmindedly into my computer. Another thought comes to the surface.

Eden's birthday was two weeks ago. A card had appeared on my desk, somehow – probably by J's doing – inviting me to a party, of sorts. I also remember using that card as fuel in the furnace.

Nevertheless, I ought to wish her a happy belated birthday. It _is_ only the polite thing to do, I've been told.

It is still nearing midnight, of course, so Eden is either asleep or watching some stupid show. Hopefully the former, so I won't have to take part in the formality.

The garden looks different upon my entrance. The benches are gone, as is the electric gate that blocks off the rest of the facility. My mind wanders down the spectrum of what may have happened.

Perhaps Batman had arrived after all and there was a fight, breaking the benches in the process. Then again, he surely would have discovered me, had he been here. And there would be shrapnel if there had been a fight.

Maybe someone stole the benches? But why would they break the electric fence? And why steal the benches in the first place?

There had been a burn barrel outside. Most likely, she had burned the wood. But why?

My musings keep my mind occupied. Therefore, I don't notice where I am. A quick and painful shock to the toe soon sorts that out.

My grapnel gun, fortunately, also works like Robin's zip-kick, so the electrified moat is no further problem. The hallways leading to the aviary allow for further thought.

Batman has not returned to the island ever since the Joker's breakout. I have a feeling he would be taken aback at the state of the gardens, now.

With Poison Ivy allowing her daughter carte blanche over the botanical gardens, the plants have flourished. The level of green is frankly sickening, but also appropriate, considering the setting. The aviary alone would easily give the bat a shock.

What was once a deep, dark, chasm is now something of an oasis in the middle of an otherwise uniformly brown interior. In center and slightly back is Eden's _Salix babylonica_. The Weeping Willow in which she makes her bed.

She will most definitely tell me off for this, but I've never been very good at climbing.

A strangled scream echoes through the aviary. The girl is already looking at me when I make my landing.

"Joe?" she says. "What are you doing here?"

"Happy…birthday." Her brows draw together and a frown appears.

"My birthday was a week ago." A small, awkward smile emerges on her lips. "But thanks."

Yanking the grapnel from the bark of the tree (and bringing another flinch from Eden), I settle down next to her in her combined contraption of a bed and hammock.

"What are you watching?" I ask, not caring.

"Only the longest running Sci-fi show, _ever!_ " she enthuses, a big green smile on her face. A man in a leather jacket waves a silver stick at a sleeping person's head, diagnosing their condition.

"How are your cockroaches doing?" Eden asks.

"Formula D cut the time it took to run in half. Very promising."

"Have you figured out a way to get the same results without a fear response?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"The goal is the fear response; I'm studying the effects." She rolls her eyes, returning them to the screen.

"What happened to the benches and the gate?" I ask. "What were you doing, yesterday?"

"Cleaning." So, she had gotten rid of the benches and burned them outside. It made sense.

"I have to get back to the cockroaches." I turn to leave, her "Bye, Joseph," at my back.

A vine abruptly whips against my back. I instinctively turn to see what the threat it is, when Eden says "That's for shanking my sister."

On my way out of the door, I see Warden Sharp coming from the mansion, probably to inquire about Eden's fire.

"Warden." I nod at him.

"Joseph," he nods back. Thankfully, he decides to leave the conversation at that.

I return to my lair, and continue the experiments.

 **A.N.: I wasn't sure how to end this, so it's more like 20 minutes in the life of Joseph Crane. Let me know what you think of the character, or the chapter.**


	4. Kitten Kyle

**Kitten Kyle**

 **A.N.: No response, so I decided on writing Kitten. There are also two little Easter eggs, both pertaining to the same musical artist, and another one to a movie that came out quite recently. See if you can find them. Enjoy!**

The night air smells like cigarettes and filth. It smells like home.

Mom's out getting her things and trying to find a way out of Arkham City. And me? Where am I going at 1:00 in the morning?

To work.

It took a little while for dear old Ozzy to warm up to me, of course. He was one of Mom's personal favorites. But, since he thinks I've never stolen from him, he lets me into the Iceberg whenever I want, so long as I don't mess around in the museum.

Puffin and Polar Bear, luckily, are less strict about that.

The rooftops greet my sneaker-clad feet as I bound from gargoyle to gargoyle. Finally, after nearly choking on the homey scent of the streets, I arrive at the lounge and rush to the bathroom to change.

Once my all black costume is stuffed into a bag and I'm dressed in my work clothes, I take my position behind the bar.

I know what you're thinking; I'm seventeen and shouldn't be bartending, let alone drinking. But in here, it doesn't matter. You're a criminal just by location; what's a little thing like underage drinking going to do? I don't drink that much, anyway.

Not that that's true for other people.

"Hey, gorgeous," a man in his thirties slurs. "Neat Daniel's and a beer back."

"Coming right up," I chirp as I get him his whiskey and a non-alcoholic beer. He downs them without noticing.

"Hey, Kitten," Puffin greets me as she hands the murderer a filet mignon. "How're you doing?"

"Not bad, not bad. How's Bear?"

She glanced over to her brother, guarding the door with another of Penguin's crew.

"Oh, he's fine. Apparently he ran into the Bat last week. He managed to escape without much injury, though."

"What'd you do about Disa?"

Puff sighs. "She's clean, so I'm back to square one."

I give her a little pout of sympathy as we both return to work. There seems to be an abundance of Two Face thugs here tonight. Concerning, but it's not unusual.

Then, of course, the abundance is explained.

"What's new, pussycat?" growls the not-as-drunk-as-planned man. He's holding a gun to my face, of course. His confidantes, apparently, are doing the same to everyone else. The situation is hopeless, our need dire.

You'd think they would've learned by now.

Before he realizes what's happening, the man finds his eye dug out by the draught beer.

Before he has time to fight back, and just as the first volley of bullets begin flying, I duck beneath the bar and grab the gun I stashed there.

12 bullets, 20 goons.

This won't be easy.

"12, 11, 10…" I count off as the bunch decide to reload. Three lie unconscious on the ground after my firing. Five more after the bouncers kick into action.

Bottles above me start exploding. Apparently, one of them got brave and slithered out from behind the upturned tables. Apparently, he also brought a machine gun.

Almost as soon as he gets to the bar, the onslaught stops.

"Should've kept count of your ammo," I _helpfully_ offer, shooting him in the neck.

"9."

If anyone else "gets brave," they'll come straight for the spot where he's bleeding into some poor sod's glass. So, I crawl close to the floor, careful not to cut myself on the broken bottles and puddle of a new cocktail, and get a glance at the situation.

It's turned into a game of "dodge-bullet," with the staff firing shot guns behind one mahogany table, and the thugs firing behind another.

"8." Two more drop. "7." Another two.

They're too busy tearing up the spot I just shot from to notice me dashing behind the staff table.

Five goons left and six bullets. Like I said, not good odds on their part.

Countless bullets on our end – two from me – and plenty of shrapnel-filled minutes later, and we've won. All thugs are lying dead or unconscious.

The owner of the house steps forward while we're cleaning up, after the victims left alive are hauled away for questioning.

"You did good, Kitty cat. Takin' out those blokes with not but a hand gun? That's good work."

"Thank you sir. Much obliged."

"You'll be seeing a raise in your paycheck this weekend. Just this once, though; so don't get used to it."

"Very generous, sir. Thank you."

The five-foot buzzard walks off without another word, blowing cigar smoke into the air.

A few hours later, my shift is over, I've earned another half-hour of over time, and all the bodies, blood, glass, and tables are cleaned up.

The way back is all the more dangerous because of tonight, though. Two Face undoubtedly got wind of what happened tonight; he'll be planning on ambushing me.

Do they ever learn?

"4, 3." Two more bleed onto my doorstep. Again, they never learn, do they?

"2." One of the two on a nearby building drops. And, before the other one can spot me, "1."

"No luck?" Mom's bandaging a leg on the mattress, so I already know the answer.

"Those turrets have got to run out of bullets, eventually."

"You know, I bet I could convince Eden to tear a hole in the wall. Or maybe have Mister Freeze build us an ice raft so we can drift out."

Mom gives me a small squeak of answer before going to bed, me following suit.

 **A.N.: I wasn't sure how to end this, so it ends here. Let me know if you caught those references, and please review in general. Thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!**


	5. Moira Fries

**Moira Fries**

 **A.N.: Long time, no see, huh? Well, I'm back with a new chapter. Enjoy!**

A man stepped up to me, his footsteps echoing around the dirty, dingy room in which I was standing. In his hand he held my father's ice gun – black and blue like glowing, winking eyes in the night – but his face was hidden by a hood, the inside dark as day.

Also bouncing around the room were the sounds of a fight, the ice gun, and the growls of a man. It sounded like the growls of the same man that stood before me now, but more distant.

He stood weirdly, holding the gun out as if about to put it on a shelf, or as if he were trying to wrestle it from someone's grip, and his hood fell back.

The blackness stayed, mostly. Two tall points appeared as if from nowhere on top of his head. His eyes – white, glowing slits – weren't looking at me.

The gun fired, and everything I saw turned white, and then black.

Moisture greeted my skin, and a dank, dirty smell said hello to my nose. Aside from the sound of sheets rubbing against sheets, there was no sound of motion. Not a step, not a breath.

"Ethan?" I called, feeling tears prick my eyes. " _Ethan?!_ "

He didn't answer for a second, and so my hands came up to my cold face, as my sobs echoed around the room. "He's dead," accompanied the sound repeatedly.

And then steady hands took mine.

"I'm here," his voice said. "I'm alive. Feel my face; it's me. I'm here."

My fingers were guided to his face, and I was glad that he still did this. My breath steadied and my tears slowed as I traced my fingers across his handsome nose and deep eye sockets, and over his bumpy skin.

He pulled me into a hug, and I held on as tightly as I could, wishing he'd let me stay here in his arms.

Eventually, he pulled back, though.

"Breakfast is probably ready. You want to come?"

I nodded, and he helped me up like the gentleman he is. I grabbed my cane and followed him through the cave, away from Dead Man's Point.

Soon enough, my cane tapped against something slightly squishy and the air got even moister. Eden must have put in a vine bridge in the botanical gardens.

"We thought you'd never get here!" J's voice exclaimed. I could hear flower stems bend and snap as I swept my cane around. Eden's voice welcomed us, but it was more strained than usual.

I heard Ethan set a plate in front of me, and I gingerly felt around it to see what was there.

A tomato's smooth skin and wet flesh; squishy, greasy fried eggs; and warm bacon and sausage.

Silence fell as everyone tucked in, and then the sounds of eating fell, too. Something was crawling across my hand; I could feel its eight feet and smooth body.

I could tell from how cold it was that it was one of J's pranks, so I picked up the spider and throw it towards him.

The toy clattered across the floor, and everyone chuckled at the failed prank.

After I had finished eating, Ethan tapped me on the back of my hand. We stood, said goodbye to everyone else, and left the way we came.

 **A.N.: Just like with Joseph, this one is more like a brief moment, rather than a day in Moira's life. Also, in case it wasn't clear in the chapter, Moira is blind. She lost her sight when she was caught in the crossfire of a fight between Mr. Freeze and Batman. Batman had had the ice gun and was trying to wrestle it from Mr. Freeze. The gun went off and blasted Moira in the face. Batman doesn't know that Moira was blinded by his mistake. Thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!**


End file.
